You're young and you find, blessedly, that you're good at something sporty. You have a hero or two, whose exploits you follow, the better to walk in their footsteps. You do this through media. It seems innocent enough.
You grow and improve at your sporty thing. Soon, you find yourself in "the system". In that system, they teach you about media, what to say, but more importantly what not to say. With so much fake news about, can't be too careful, see? It's a little less innocent now.
You improve further, rise higher in the system. You acquire a manager. You learn how the media runs agendas. You're given an agenda of your own to run, a message to deliver, a sponsor's backdrop to stand in front of. When did you last see a sportsman without a backdrop, au naturel? I did this week. It was Fremantle coach Ross Lyon, who had somehow gone rogue. Doubtlessly, an internal investigation ensued.
You reach your sporty peak, become a star, and a brand, to be promoted and protected. You don't remember your childhood heroes as brands, but what the hell. As advised by your suite of managers, you're selective about who you talk to and careful what you say. This is the era of fake news, remember. Better your lies than theirs, they seem to be telling you. Dimly, you remember your innocent youth.
If you're, say, a Formula One driver, you might find that you're being doled out to media in 10-minute packages, but only if you agree to talk about one sponsor's champagne or another's super-duper fuel, and the media agrees to plug them, or else no deal (both "opps" passed across this desk this week). O … K. You try to remember your lines. You feel, well, commodified.
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SYDNEY MORNING HERALD
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